Sweet Perfection
by Coco Tutu
Summary: He grabbed hold of her apron and leaned in close, the spearmint tang of his breath lingering across Mikan's neck. "I've got a hoard of fan-girls and a load of paparazzi on my case; you're going to help me chase them away." Mikan laughed. "I wouldn't help you even if your head was on fire, Natsume Hyuuga." AU, #2


**Disclaimer: Don't own Gakuen Alice. :'(**

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**Chapter 1:** At Your Assistance

Teeth gritted, Mikan felt the urge to punch that perm-headed, self-obsessed and moronic girl right across the face, so hard she wouldn't be able to say another demanding sentence out of her infatuated mouth. "Oh, dear Sumire, could you _ever _so kindly turn that song down?" was the only thing that was allowed to spill out of Mikan's mouth, subtracting the amount of cursing that could've added but she politely chose not to.

"No, now piss off! Don't you have customers to serve, or something?" Sumire retorted back, mouth busy with eating a bagel that she should've eaten an hour ago but refused to because of her so-called 'diet' that had only lasted an hour.

Mikan's lips escaped a loud, inhuman noise, of what would seemed to be the 'humpback whale' call rounded up in ten seconds, before throwing a damp towel against the metallic counter and leaning against the door in annoyance.

"Permy, if you do not lift your lazy ass up from that damned chair, I will chainsaw you against it so hard your lungs will fail to function and—"

"Mikan, just because Natsume Hyuuga is too mainstream for that ass of yours, you don't need to vent out all your rage on me!" The sea-weed haired girl snapped, eyeballing the television.

Mikan began to wonder where on Earth people like her learned to fight back so easily, knowing well enough that they would eventually get in trouble for it—those kinds of people were the type she hated, oh, _conceited_ mouths that did nothing but talk about their royalty and self-obsession.

Natsume Hyuuga, was a _perfect_ example of all the following.

Walking back from the staff room to the café counter, Mikan slumped her head against the chocolate-brown walls, the circles under her eyes draining the life out of her brain and sucking all productive thought away. Being the manager's daughter was not an easy task, especially with co-workers like_ that_.

"I still don't see why you won't just go and fire her, it's not that hard. Three words: I'm firing you," the raven-haired girl reminded Mikan, hands busy as she continued making the decaf latte a customer had ordered. "I'll do it for you, if you really find it _that_ hard."

"Hotaru, as easy as that is, it's not about the fact that I'll be hurting perm—Sumire's feelings, it's the fact that we won't have enough employees. It's bad enough right now, but if anything else happens…" A hand was placed on Mikan's shoulder.

"You'll manage, somehow," Hotaru replied sympathetically, voice a bit lighter than usual. The optimistic auburn-brunette nodded and went back to her usual routine, which was collecting up all the empty cups left on tables and cleaning them with her wipes. In spite of being the 'assistant'-manager, Mikan didn't really have much importance in her job. She did the jobs no one else wanted, which was cleaning.

Putting up with it was difficult, but she magically happened to manage.

"Mikan! We need more people taking orders out front!" a bubbly voice notified Mikan, throwing her a pen and piece of paper. Being Friday lunchtime, it was awfully busy with most people coming in to eat their lunch from either college, or work but mainly being teenagers from college.

"I'm on it, Anna!"

Walking to the tables outside of their café shop, Mikan felt the temperature of the summer day heating through the layers of her skin. What had been puddles of water on the pavement was no longer, but evaporated with the freshening breeze spring had brought—oh, just _why _did that have to go away? That uplifting, enjoyable breeze that moved along with the air just as the stable temperature rose no more than it should have on a spring morning.

"Can I take your order?" Mikan politely asked her third customer, feeling the sun's wave of heat exhausting her with every second gone by. Now she could see why no one felt like taking the outside orders—the sun was just too much to have to handle with. With all the air conditioning inside, they were safe; clearly, Mikan was not.

"Grilled cheese sandwich with an Americano and a double chocolate chip muffin. That'll be all," the woman replied, watching Mikan scribble down her notes and skip away with a nod.

Walking back inside, she felt the life in her soul revive with the air conditioning howling against her face—it was so _perfect_. Though it was just a few minutes worth of the freshening breeze, Mikan could just feel the sweat running down her arms evaporate away with the replacement of the blasting arctic-like air prickling against her skin.

"Here you are, ma'am," Mikan called, freeing her hands from the three plates that she had buried her hands with.

"Thank you, now, is it alright if I you could take this inside? The sun is hitting me so hard I'm unable to think and it looks like it won't be going down anytime soon," the woman requested, with that sympathetic elderly look that you'd probably see on your grandma's face after telling her the cookies she made were delicious, but too much to eat.

"Of course," responded a_ slightly_ pissed off Mikan. Politely, she held the glass door open to the customer with all three cups in her hands and somehow still managed to walk through it herself, being the magical Mikan everyone knew; she held her temper and decided to vent it all out on her best friend, who frankly, wouldn't care.

"Anything else?" Mikan faltered to ask, stretching her plastered smile to such a width it couldn't go any further.

"No—"

_Oh thank the heavens. _

"Well, yes, actually. If it isn't too much of a bother, would you mind picking up my newspaper from the table I was sitting? I love my newspaper, you see—" With a silent growl that could only be heard from the insides of her head, Mikan jumped out of the door and snatched the rolled up newspaper that had been laying on the crumb-free table.

Walking further to the widely-sized pavement in front of her, Mikan noticed that opposing pavements and shops were free of people; mainly because of the scorching weather that seemed to be blasting so hard no one had the energy required to walk to where they wanted to.

Ears sharpening, Mikan's body stiffened. "_Su—mire_!" she grumbled, pulling the café shop open and stomping her way back to the staff room, to the perm-headed girl. "Turn that piece of crap down before I have to show you what_ real_ music is!" Mikan barked with a snarl, grabbing her iPod Nano which was supposedly 'plugged-in' with earphones, but still happened to be blasting so loud that the dogs, who were sitting outside the café, were growling.

"Give me my iPod back!" Sumire demanded in rage.

"No, now I'll be confiscating this until the end of the day!"

"But—"

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have some trash to take out." Before she could even open her mouth to talk back in rage, Mikan had escaped out of her reach.

.

"Good work, Hyuuga!"

"Natsume, my man, how you doin'?"

"You did fantastic today!"

"Good job, keep making us proud, Natsume!"

With a stretching smirk, Natsume just loved to hear the sound of their continuous praises, it made him feel_ motivated_, more easily able to work. Though his arrogance filled him to the brim, they all knew their words were true, too. Even the man himself knew it—he was never one for modesty, after all. Running a tender hand through the silky tresses of his ebony-coloured hair, Natsume felt _great_.

"Hyuuga, good work today! A lot better than expected, seeing as the vase you broke on purpose yesterday—"

"_Alright,_ Misaki, you don't need to go in to such_ details _so loudly," Natsume hissed to his manager, voice jagged. With a small and bubbly laugh, the older woman gave him a pat on his head before leading him to a room in his studio.

Being of medium size, there was a large, black and white sophisticated-looking couch that stretched out to the end of the room; it had a large, LCD screen in front of it along with a table that had several packets of crisps, some cans of coke and some more snacks. Sprawled out across the couch were four of Natsume's friends, all grinning to their heart's content. "Hurry up, dude, it's your interview on repeat! Your _interview_!" almost all of them burst out. Hurrying to sit down, Natsume grabbed a can of coke, opened it and glugged it down his throat, embracing the icy drink cooling down his insides on the summer day.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the famous _Natsume Hyuuga_!" the interviewer greeted as the celebrity swayed as he walked, giving a small swing to his stride.

Eye-goggling at his choice of clothing: leather baseball jacket, ripped jeans and dark blue vans, the interviewer brought her chair closer to his and gave him a flirtatious nudge. "Four gold albums and three gone triple platinum—here you have the man of it all!" He shrugged, as if to say it wasn't much. "So, Hyuuga…" she mumbled, still loud enough for the audience to hear.

"Monica, please don't be so formal, call me Natsume," he corrected her, with a wink that melted her heart so much it had pretty much been in _liquid_ form by the end of the interview.

"Well, if you insist." The woman gave off an extremely high-pitched squeal of a giggle and stopped herself from melting away any further. "Back to the interview, you're looking _great_!" she flung her arms out as he stood up to show off his newly-bought outfit, advertising many of the designer brands he had bought from.

"I get that a lot." Surprisingly, his big-headedness didn't seem to be badgering anyone, but fluttered their little hearts even more than it should have. How arrogance became so sexy, was still a wonder to Natsume—he didn't know how he managed to do it, but one cold word to them and they'd go c_razy _for him.

"I can totally see why! Now then, I've heard your most recent album has hit_ triple_ platinum sales—how the hell did you make that happen in such a short time?!" Monica questioned Natsume with a puzzled look while staring at him with teasing, ultramarine-blue coated orbs.

"It's just the fans, Monica." She just dissolved in the way his lips spoke her name so vividly. "I'm so grateful to them all; they've been there for me since the beginning and are still here now. Even the new fans I'm grateful to but overall, they're just helping me live the dream and I know how selfish I'm being, but I'm just hoping to make them proud," he spoke, sending an ear-bleeding cheer among the crowd.

"Aren't_ you_ just the most thoughtful little guy?" she complimented, patting him on the shoulder lightly.

"The kindness comes to me naturally," Natsume seductively answered, a smirk appearing across the rim of his lips.

"_Speaking _of kindness and personalities, your female fans have all been wondering: what exactly _is _your type?" Monica asked, lessening the distance between them slowly as she leaned in closer to him, though she had been speaking more for _herself _than any other girl. Meanwhile, Natsume increased it as he leaned back further in to his chair, pretending to think.

"I don't have a type. I fall in love with who I love, not by their looks or what I want them to be like."

"Would you ever be willing to fall in love with a _fan_?" For the first time, the whole crowd was shushed in silence and determination, waiting for their beloved Natsume's answer.

"Who knows? Anything is possible. Let's just have fate decide that," he shared, shoulders shrugging.

Natsume, watching back the interview of his, groaned—being cheesy was definitely _so_ out of his character and everyone, including his fans, knew that, so why were they _still_ fondling over him like an ice cream on a summer evening? Still, being his manager, Misaki had decided that a cheesy side of him would make him more…interesting.

"You hear that, girls? Anything is possible!" Monica leered, pointing out to the applauding girls out in the audience.

With a click, Natsume had already turned the television off as all six of them carried on munching away in silence, the sounds of their crunching overpowering the quietness. After two minutes of staring in to the television screen in stillness, his indigo-haired best friend broke it by saying, "Natsume, you do know you earned two_ million_ new twitter followers, with all of them being girls, after that interview? Right?"

With a '_what-the-hell-is-up-with-that_' look, his face turned to Tsubasa and shook his head. "Nope. I had no idea."

"Damn, you're calm."

"The more he freaks out inside, the calmer he gets _outside_," Misaki explained, smile stretching as she ignored the glare Natsume shot violently at her, which seemed a _thousand _times scarier by the trace of cherry-red that his irises had tainted in them; though they came across as a very alluring colour to have, Natsume thought otherwise.

"Look, just turn it on again!" the silver-haired boy interrupted their intimidate, yet transmitted wars. With a groan, Natsume turned the television again with a click of the remote control and was afraid to be embarrassed by the characteristic Misaki had set up for him.

"Puppies are just _adorable_," Natsume hesitated to spit out, words being choked out of his mouth like dry saliva. "I like them more than cats, frankly, since I'm more of a dog person." The audience_ ooh_'d and _aaw_'d at his forced out words, and before he could say anything else, Monica almost began _drooling_ at such sweet words.

A vein popping at the side of his head, the humiliated boy stood up to say something, but couldn't. His mouth stayed half-open, until he find found the energy to walk out of the room and never be able to face anyone ever _again_. Sure, doing that interviewing was bad enough but he soon enough forgot about that humiliated feeling—until he saw the replay of the _video_; why the hell did he agree to doing such a thing—

"Oh my god, look! It's _Natsume Hyuuga_!" a feminine voice broke out, faces whipping round to see the face of the star as he walked out of his studio and out to an open park to 'chill' out.

"Is that—"

"It's him!"

"It's really him, isn't it?"

"Holy crap, this must be a dream!"

"Pinch me, please."

His 'chilling' plan was _so _not working. After half an hour of humiliation, he was definitely not ready for something like this to be happening. After all, signing autographs for hundreds of people was not part of his day, _no_. The shades that were tucked in to his back pocket had been forgotten to put on and with those charming eyes of his, no one could miss the sight of _the_ Natsume Hyuuga, nope, never.

He had two choices: run away, or take two hours to host his own little 'autograph-signing' session.

"Look guys, it's _the_ Natsume Hyuuga! We've got him now!" A black van pulled out with endless amounts of flashing cameras, which were probably _more _expensive than the total cost of your furniture in your room, multiplied by two. _Oh, crap. The paparazzi._ None of this was meant to be part of his day.

Yeah, Natsume was _definitely_ sticking to option one: leg it or prepare to be killed.

Legs flying wildly behind, he took a quick turn out of the park before snatching the shades out of his pocket and made sure they were securely put on, eyes hidden behind the darkness of the Ray Bans. He would never be able to outrun a car of all matters—sure, fan-girls weren't a problem (being an athletic type-of-guy came in handy, sometimes) but a_ car_?

That was going to be difficult.

Taking different turns to unknown places he had never heard of in his life, Natsume felt more out of breath than the time he ran a _marathon _for breast cancer. Oh, the things that the level-headed pinkette made him do. In spite of his wheezing, his legs didn't stop. A roar of an engine could be heard behind him, but this just motivated his legs to run faster than they originally had—creating a painful sensation in his calves from not stretching after running so fast.

"He's over there, I think!"

Teeth clenched, Natsume refused to give in. He looked straight ahead of him: one corner that lead to a pitch-black alleyway and a right, leading to another road that he had no idea where it lead to. Still, being a dead alleyway could be slight dangerous, but it could just possibly hide his body in the dim light.

Clammy palms tightening in a ball, the sweat dripped down from his brow and to the sides of his face, his peachy-coloured cheeks turning to rosy ones. His pulse rate was fastening the more he ran but even so, he didn't stop.

Natsume Hyuuga didn't have time to be pestered by countless amounts of fan-girls and their mothers, all asking for stupid autographs that would probably be thrown in the bin by the end of the week, forgotten the next; the paparazzi were a thousand times worse! Their thick-headed minds just couldn't understand the fact that their noses weren't wanted and—

"Dude, watch where the _hell_ you're going!" a gruff, yet high-pitched voice complained with a moan.

Opening his eyes, Natsume almost felt like he was going to _die_, seeing his shades on the floor and the girl that had been shoved to the floor. Her arms were sprawled along the ground, trash bags plummeted to the floor and spilt; the monstrously disgusting reek of the trash smelt worse than a skunk releasing its '_air_'.

Just before he was able to reach them, arms extending to pick them up, the girl's mouth widened at the look of his easily recognizable face.

"Why the fu—"

"Shut up! Shut up! Just _shut up _before I have to freaking kill you and make your death look like an accident!" he quickly responded before placing his hand on her mouth, smearing it with pink guava flavoured lip gloss.

His eyes darted to her hazel ones, watching the girl's facial features; her auburn-brown hair was drooping down to her chest and even though her bangs hid her thickened lashes, her eyes were deeply olive-coloured and with glowing lips so plump—

"Ditch water," his dulcet voice spoke out, spilling out the word like a smooth coat of dark chocolate—it was so beautiful, despite only being a mere _voice_. You can describe a voice as being beautiful, right?

"What?" Mikan asked in puzzlement.

"Your eyes remind me of ditch water."

Natsume slapped a hand to his hand, remembering Misaki's words: "Remember, a kind approach to a fan will gain you popularity, so _never_ speak your mind! _Never_!"

"Pretend you didn't hear that and I'll sign you an autograph."

"I knew the arrogance had already got to your head long before you were famous, but blackmailing, too? What kind of a celebrity _are _you?" she insulted him angrily, voice low.

Natsume was shocked; the words in his mouth were not enough to present his feelings aloud.

He smirked.

"Acting indifferent to a celebrity isn't going to like you more, y'know," he responded, grabbing hold of the iPod Nano that she was clutching tightly to her hand and flipped through the songs, looking through the list of song artists that came up.

_Natsume Hyuuga._

_Natsume Hyuuga._

_Natsume Hyuuga._

_Natsume Hyuuga._

Hell, there was about four of his albums on that iPod!

"Interesting, sixty songs on your playlist all from me…" he muttered, still scrolling through.

Mikan's body froze—oh, _why _did she have to have Sumire's iPod at such a bad time? Was this a punishment from the Gods, telling her to obey every command that seaweed-haired girl demanded of her? Surely not, right?

"It's not mine, it's my co-worker's! I confiscated it because—"

"Save it, I've heard that excuse more than you would expect." Mikan's mouth dropped, not expecting to hear that; who knew people were so_ cliché_?

"People pretend not to like you just so they'll try and get your attention? Who in their right mind would do that…just for_ you_?" She spat out the 'you' like it was a nasty virus, until the brunette saw the idol pointing a finger to her. "I already told you, everything about you disgusts me."

"Then I dare you to go and expose me, right now. Scream my name and tell everyone I'm standing right here; if you were a fan, you'd want me all to yourself, _right_?"

"Easier done than said," Mikan responded, twisting the words around. "_Oh my god, look, it's Natsu—"_ His hand travelled to her mouth against hers, once again; struggling, Mikan wriggled free of his peach-smelling hands and shoved it away as it went back to his sides.

He grabbed hold of her apron and leaned in close, the spearmint tang of his breath lingering across Mikan's neck. "Look, you have to understand me here. I've got a hoard of fan-girls and a load of paparazzi on my case; _you_ are going to help me chase them away."

Mikan laughed.

"I wouldn't help you even if your head was on fire, Natsume Hyuuga."

"I bet you'd like that, now wouldn't you?"

"Finally convinced, eh?"

Natsume paused, trying to think until he felt a spark hit his head. "You're a teenage girl, right?"

"No, I'm a teenage boy," Mikan dryly said.

"Shut up. You probably need money, right? How much will it be for you to hide me just for tonight? Will a thousand—" With a raised eyebrow, Mikan covered his mouth like he had done to her and just released a shake of a head.

"I don't need your money, nor do I need any of your autographs or signed albums. Give it up, Hyuuga. You're _no_ celebrity; if you really cared about your fans as well as you say you do in the magazines and interviews, then you would have at least given one or two of them an autograph. You're a conceited, egocentric moron who hasn't learnt his place in this world."

The grip against Mikan's apron strengthened as he pulled her so close their foreheads were almost touching, hearing the heavy heaves of his spearmint-smelling breath fanning her face slightly. "Woman, I have no idea—"

"Mikan Sakura."

"_Sakura_, I have no idea what your problem is, but you should probably stop acting like you know every little aspect of my life."

Behind the hoarse voice of Natsume's spoken words, Mikan could hear something; even though it was quiet and fading, it sounded like several voices growing louder by the minute, along with footsteps that sounded _more_ thunderous than a raging stampede of _bulls._

Pulling apart, Mikan shoved the shaggy-haired boy away from her reach and saw the incoming, black van pull apart out of the corner of her eye; though she wasn't exactly sure how far they were away from them, she knew they were this close to being recognized—the brunette, included.

She could just see it, the newest headlines: _Brunette and Natsume Hyuuga spotted in an alleyway, possibly cuddling?! What is going on between these two? Could they be...lovers? _

Mikan gave one hell of a shudder, sent the intense-looking Natsume a short, sharp smile and pointing to a couch-sized garbage bin. "Get in there before they spot you." Snarling, the dark-haired idol released a groan from the edge of his lips before he grabbed the plastic top and dived in, embracing the fact that he was going to have to take a _long_ shower afterwards, thinking, _what the hell did I, Natsume Hyuuga, just get myself in to?_

* * *

This was such a spur-of-the-moment idea, lol.

I'll probably release my next story, In For The Kill (see profile for summary and further details) before updating the next chapter of this and (maybe) TCB but I still don't know because I'm still not used to handling loads of stories at once, haha.

Reviewing would be awesome, but thank you for reading and have a good day!


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